Over the winter we moved into a new home. It's not actually a new home. I think the industry term is previously owned. To me that sounds a bit like ABC Gum - Already Been Chewed. Regardless, it's our first home and we were pretty excited to get moved in. It's a nice neighborhood and we're at the end of a cul-de-sac so it seemed like a great place to raise our family.
The one thing that worried me about the whole transaction was buying the house never having seen the yard. It was covered in about 3 feet of snow when we first saw the home and another couple of feet had accumulated by the time we moved in. Throughout the remainder of the winter I had a recurring nightmare that the snow would melt and reveal a toxic waste dump where my lawn should be.
Spring came and slowly the yard revealed itself. As more snow melted it became obvious that the previous owner had been a "yard guy". As the grass greened up and I ventured into the yard I could feel the thick springy feeling that's a sure sign of a well-maintained and healthy lawn. The neighbors emerged from their winter naps and began introducing themselves and each one made one comment about the homes previous owner. He absolutely loved his lawn.
The significance of my inheritance wasn't immediately apparent to me, but as I met more and more of the locals it dawned on me. When I talked to them casually on the street, as our children played in the cul-de-sac, each was warm and friendly and willing to fill me in on all the neighborhood lore. But when I walked around my yard, and while they thought I wasn't looking, their eyes would follow me tracking my every move. It was as if they were waiting for something.
Something else was nagging at me, but I couldn't quite place what it was. I noticed the absolute lack of any landscaping in my new yard. There were no shrubs, no flowerbeds, not even a single paving stone to be found. But there was something else missing as I stood and surveyed my green domain. And then it hit me. There wasn't a single weed from one edge of the lawn to the other. Not even ONE SINGLE WEED! I had inherited The Lawn. The Lawn was perfect, the former owner had been The King of the Lawn and I was The New King.
When the realization hit me I ran into the house slamming the door behind. I peered out of the blinds, through the front window, across The Lawn and saw my subjects madly sculpting, tweaking and refining their meager sod in hopes of attaining a small bit of the glory that was The Lawn. Occasionally they'd stop, wiping the sweat from their brows and stare longingly at The Lawn. My heart was racing and I could hear each beat in the quiet room. Panic had set in.
I'd always loved working in the yard, but I wasn't what you'd call a yard guy by any means. I admit there were times when I knew I should mow the grass and I'd let it go in favor of a Saturday of fishing or golf. There were times when I'd considered setting up the sprinkler but been distracted by a nap. I'd even gone so far as to buy a bottle of weed-and-feed only to have it sit in the garage collecting dust until I sold it for a quarter at a garage sale. I'd learned to accept dandelions as a natural part of the landscape and when my grass trimmer ran out of line I'd never replaced it.
Now, here I was, expected to assume the throne as King of The Lawn and I didn't even know how to measure soil pH. I couldn't tell a Kentucky Blue from Crabgrass. The nightmares returned but instead of a toxic dump for a yard I would find myself standing naked outside spraying weed killer. To my horror the dandelions wouldn't die but would grow to the height of trees and as they grew their tops would bend towards me. They all looked like the plant from Little Shop of Horrors and just as they were about to tear me limb from limb I'd wake up screaming. The fact that I was naked and holding a hose in my dream might be interpreted otherwise, but I'm sure The Lawn had a lot to do with it.
In my madness I started searching the Internet for lawn care tips. I came upon a site that discussed the benefits of xeroscaping - the design of lawns that use almost no water. As I frantically devoured the information I came upon my salvation. There it was right before me on the web, right behind the 12 porn site windows that had popped up. With a single phone call I immediately set my plan into action.
The next morning the sun was shining and warmed The Lawn chasing away the dew. I woke up feeling refreshed and jumped out of bed secure in the knowledge that this day would be a great day. I soon found myself standing in my driveway, coffee in hand, preparing to abdicate my throne. I watched the plan unfold and was so pleased with myself I almost giggled out loud. The neighbors peeked out from behind their curtains and watched in wonderment and awe. A few gathered around the end of the driveway in disbelief. I just smiled, traded my coffee cup for a rake and started leveling the last of 14 truckloads of stone that had been delivered to my new rock garden.
Off Center was an online humor column I wrote for the now-defunct FargoWeb in the early part of the current millennium.
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